


Save a Prayer For Me Now

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: The Other Regan [24]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5091836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate times call for desperate prayers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save a Prayer For Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> (note, Trespasser threw a wrench into my original plan, so this had to be tweaked a bit. But, that’s oK. Gives me a chance to work something new into the story later.)

She’d been looking for Cullen all afternoon.  They’d planned on meeting for a game of chess, then dinner, but he hadn’t been at the gazebo; the board wasn’t even set up.  She’d checked his office, the training grounds, the war room … nothing.  Not in the kitchens, the tavern or the stables, even.  She was making another check of the gardens when she finally heard his voice, surprised she hadn’t noticed the open door to the makeshift chantry.  Regan headed for the door, wondering what in the Chantry would have distracted him so much that he’d forget their appointment, especially when he knew she was riding out the following day.

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide.”  Cullen’s voice was low, almost inaudible unless one was close.  He was bowed, one knee resting on the step in front of the tall statue of Andraste.  Hands clasped in front of him, head down.  “I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the beyond.”  His voice broke momentarily, shoulders sagging under the weight of … everything.  “For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”

She almost didn’t want to interrupt, but there was pain in his voice that she couldn’t bear.  She took a few steps forward, reaching out for him.  “A prayer for you?”  She struggled to keep her voice steady, quiet, but she was concerned about him.  Was he having problems with withdrawal?  Was the fact that they kept so much lyrium around for the templars making things harder on him?

“For those we have lost,” he sighed, standing.  He turned to face her, reaching out for her hand.  “And for those I… am afraid to lose.”  He pulled her close, buried his nose in her hair.  The scent of peppermint filled his senses, washed over him like a salve.

“You’re afraid?”  He was never afraid.  Stressed, in pain, so busy it almost hurt … but never afraid.  She’d even go so far as to say she’d seen him nervous, but she’d never seen him afraid.  

“Of course I am,” he replied, sounding a little surprised.  Did she not realize what was coming, what was going to have to happen?  He closed his eyes and just … stood there for a moment.  “You saw what he did.  Corypheus possessed that Grey Warden at Mythal.  What more is he capable of?”  His voice was barely above a whisper, almost lost in her hair.  He ran a hand along her spine, accidentally hitting a spot he hadn’t realized was ticklish.  Her sudden effort to squirm away made him crack a smile, despite his worry.  “It’s only a matter of time before he retaliates.  I … we must draw strength wherever we can.”  She was his strength; whether he wanted to say it aloud or not - her presence, her belief in him gave him the strength to get through … everything so far.  It seemed to have been that way since he met her in Haven.  

She kept quiet, unsure what to say.  Was there anything she could say?  Her arms wrapped around him, glad that for once he opted not to wear his armor.  She slipped a hand under his tunic, traced a finger gently along his lower back, feeling muscles tight from unknown hours of hunched over prayers.  She brought her other hand around and, despite the awkward position, started kneading her fingers into his back.  The answering groan was enough to let her know she should keep working at it.  “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your faith.”

Oh, Maker; her fingers felt like magic just then.  He’d lost track of time; he was so worried about the coming battles, knowing what lied ahead, knowing she would have to face it possibly … likely … without him.  He had no idea how long he’d been hunched over, praying to a God he only hoped heard him.  “I’ve questioned it at times,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders.  “But I’ve found comfort in faith … when life offered little.”  He had to have faith now.  Knowing what was to come; he had to have faith that the Maker would protect her, guide them all through this … allow her to return to him.  “When the time comes, you … you will be ….”  His voice hitched, stomach churned at the thought.  Maker, he wanted to protect her, keep her safe … not let her risk her life for this.  “You will be thrown into his path, again.  Andraste preserve me … I … I must send you to him.”  His hands gripped her to him, fighting back fearful tears.

She’d never seen him in this state before.  Even in his worst lyrium withdrawals, he’d held himself together more.  It made her insides knot in an entirely unfamiliar way.  She was used to her family being concerned.  She knew everyone at Skyhold had it at the back of their minds – even her.  But to see the toll it was taking on him … on the man she loved ….  It hurt.  “There’s nothing to worry about.”  She tried to smile, to lighten the mood.  Reluctantly taking a step back, she reached up, pulled at a chain around her neck – pulled a familiar coin from beneath her tunic.  “I have luck on my side, remember?”  She’d had Harritt craft a means for her to wear the coin rather than risk it being in a pocket or pouch.  She always kept it tucked just to one side … over her heart, she claimed.

The sudden loss of warmth against his chest brought a frown to his face, though it was quickly replaced by a sad smile at her reminder.  He didn’t realize he was reaching for his own … new … good luck charm until he had it in his hand.  “That … is less comforting than I had hoped,” he chuckled softly, squeezing the pendant before tucking it back in his own shirt.  He pulled her back to him, wrapped his arms around her tightly, held her close.  Nose nuzzling just above her ear, he whispered.  “Whatever happens, you will come back.”

“What if I can’t …?”  She didn’t know why the question came out, didn’t want to think about the possibility.  But a sudden memory … the Chargers cut down because she’d been too confident she could reach them, too confident she could do everything, save everyone, brought harsh doubt to mind.  She didn’t want to think about anything keeping her from him … about the possibility of not coming back to his arms; not now.  But once that doubt invaded her mind, she couldn’t shake it.  “Cullen, if … if I don’t ….”

“Maker, no,” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.  He felt the tears streaking down his cheeks but made no effort to stop them.  She couldn’t … she had to come back; she just had to.  His arms tightened around her, practically crushing her against him.  He felt the strained gasps for air and forced his arms to loosen their grip, barely.  “The thought of losing you … of you not returning to me ….  I … I can’t.”  He breathed in, trying to engrave every detail in his mind, wanted to be certain he would remember her scent, carry it with him, let her know he would protect her, however he could.  “Whatever happens,” he repeated, and he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, “you will come back.”

Once she could breathe again, Regan rested her head on his shoulder, hands gripping his tunic, wanting to hold on as long as she could.  The thought that she might not make it back was too scary, too … heartbreaking.  She couldn’t do that to him … not after he’d come so far, helped her come so far.  “Is that … is that an order, Commander?”  She tried teasing again, wanting to lighten the mood as best she could, if only for a moment.

He pressed his lips to the side of her throat, muffling the faint laughter that hadn’t been expected.  He knew what she was trying to do and loved her for it all the more.  Doubts had no place in either of their minds now; they needed to have faith – faith that they would triumph; faith that Corypheus would soon be gone; faith that she would return to his arms when it was all over.  “No,” he chuckled.  “But as one of your advisors, I … I strongly recommend it.”

She grinned, shifted against him, lifted his head with a finger so he could look into her eyes.  She stretched, closing the scant distance between them to brush her lips against his.  She could feel his heart racing as her body pressed against his.  Fingers threading into his hair, she paused, pulled back briefly.  “I … shall take my advisor’s suggestion under … advisement,” she purred as she rested her head against his shoulder.  “I don’t plan on being away from you for long, love.  And when we finish this, I … want  to lock the two of us in our chambers for a week.”

“I think that sounds like a perfect plan, love,” Cullen replied, just holding her close.  She had to come back.  She just had to.  The Maker wouldn’t be so cruel as to rip her away from him just after he found her, would He?  “So long as I’m with you.”


End file.
